Cuddling
by The Silver Trumpet
Summary: Maleficent accidentally left Diaval outside during the a winter's night. It is her duty to warm him back up. Written for day one of Tumblr's Maleval week. Prompt: cuddling or dancing. One-shot.


_Cold_. That was the first thought that wracked Maleficent's mind when she sat up in her bed. Her hands tightened their grip on the cover, and she fought the urge to curl into a tiny ball and make believe that the blanket was her wings, sheltering her from the snow. She had duties, after all, and she would not shirk them without a good reason. A little chill was not a viable reason. She wished it was. She fumbled for her staff. It had a layer of frost on it. She curled her lip downward. She had hated winter ever since she was a girl. As a child, winter meant her _friend_ couldn't come out to play. As an adult, it was a simple annoyance.

The door to the abandoned palace creaked open at her cue. Chilly wind gusted in. She pulled her robes tighter about her and stepped into the light snow with a look of disgust adorning her face. Then she saw him; Diaval, curled up in a ball at the base of the steps. He quaked and quivered with the breeze. "Diaval!" she snapped.

He pulled his head up toward her. Darkness encircled his eyes. It was clear that he had not slept. Snow dusted his shirt. He staggered to his feet and wrapped his arms about himself while he approached quietly. "Yes, mistress?" He bent his head downward a bit. The feathers in his hair stuck up at odd angles, bristling against the frigid air.

"Come." Her voice didn't lose its edge despite the guilt that rose in her chest. Of course she hadn't thought to let him in; he always slept on the steps outside her castle or sometimes in a nearby tree as a watchdog (though the one time she dared call him that, he quite nearly had a stroke). She swung on her heel and headed back inside the dilapidated palace. The duties of being the moors' guardian could wait for a day. She waited for him to follow her cautiously. He had never been inside the doors of her quaint abode before, and his saucer-like black eyes sucked in everything at once. "Lie down." She closed the door after him and, with a wave of her hand, the windows sealed themselves.

"Yes, mistress." He immediately dropped to the stone floor without question and curled up at her feet.

"In the _bed_, you idiot," she snarled. Insulting him was entertaining; she liked the way it made him bristle, liked the anger and hurt that flashed across his face before he covered it over, because it pleased her immensely to bring pain to anyone. No one would ever be hurt the way she had been hurt. She had every right to lash out at everyone she met. At least, that was what she told herself so she could sleep every night.

But a very large part of her was still compassionate, even if she had lost the capacity to love. That was the part of her that healed the injured trees and plants, the part that could scoop up small animals in her hands and heal them, the part that was currently allowing Diaval to lie in the bed with her. She pulled the covers back. He balked. "With you, mistress?"

"Am I _that_ repulsive?" she barked. "Yes, with me. Foolish bird."

He obediently bowed his head and slipped into the bed next to her, careful to put a large gap between their bodies. Trembles shook the bed. Then, loudly, he sneezed. Maleficent reluctantly slid closer to him to look at him. His eyes were glossy, a slight pink tint to his cheeks though his lips were blue. His bare hands were tightly fisted together to preserve whatever warmth they could. She placed one hand on his forehead; she thought she could feel the beginnings of a fever coming on.

"Mistress?" he questioned.

She didn't reply, instead laying one arm over his chest. He went stiffer than a rail. She placed her chin in the crook between his neck and shoulder, head half on the pillow and half on him. He was positively frigid. Her other hand, following a mind of its own, snaked up to gently scratch his scalp.

"Mistress, what are you doing?" He finally decided asking her outright was the best way to go about it. This whole thing had broken her number one rule a thousand times over—_No touching_. He was never, under any circumstances, allowed to touch her. But here she was, sprawled across him like he was the bed itself, stroking his hair like she so often did his plumage.

Her breath warmed his cheeks when she replied, "I'm warming you up, you daft bird, so unless you desire one of those illnesses that humans get when they stay too cold, you'll stop questioning me." Then her hand began to move across his chest in smooth rubbing motions, each movement pulling his shirt off of him a bit more. "Take this off. It's covered with snow."

He obeyed without complaint until she continued to rub his bare chest. He was tenser than he had ever been around her before if only because he had the strangest urge to place his arm over her shoulders. The other itched to touch her waist. Finally, she purred, "Relax, birdy." Her voice was positively intoxicating. "Go to sleep. I'll keep you warm."


End file.
